


No Control

by lobsterkaijin



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), The Quincy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:35:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobsterkaijin/pseuds/lobsterkaijin
Summary: He's always been better than her.





	No Control

**Author's Note:**

> This work does not feature any canon characters, as it takes place before the Thousand Year Blood War arc, during the time in which Yhwach was conquering the lands and gathering his army. This work centres my original characters, Hazael Amsel and his sister Sapphira Amsel, and a significant event of Hazael's backstory. 
> 
> If you'd like to learn more about Hazael, [check out his toyhouse profile](https://toyhou.se/4566077.amsel-hazael)! It's just a WIP right now but it is updated often!

Hours spent in the Captain’s war room hunched over map after map, memorizing the terrain, eyes straining from their journey over valleys and mountains and desert sands. A chasm here, treachery waiting in the night. An oasis there, the enemy lying in wait. Hours spent rearranging formations, mind numb from scenario after scenario in which their men fall in bloody and gruesome sneak attacks and betrayals. Hundreds of possibilities and they’ve accounted for every single one. The Captain is either a fortune teller or a neurotic psychopath. Possibly both. Hours spent checking and rechecking and rechecking again for good measure, filing paperwork, doing inventory. Every soldier reports his weapons count. Minimum three backup weapons for every man with a reserve in the caravan behind him, so that there are as many weapons as there are microbes on the human body. 

Hours spent preparing.

Hours ruined in a moment.

Sapphira’s boots are drenched, and it’s not from the rain. Hazael can’t decide which colour he hates more. The red staining her otherwise perfect white uniform and the absolute disrespect of not wiping it from the Quincy cross, or the wild blue of her eyes fixated on him. Captain Silbergeld stands dumbfounded among his fallen men. He’d accounted for every possibility except this one.

“Lieutenant, stand down.” 

His order holds all his fear and none of his authority. She rolls her eyes, and turns on King Farid to finish the job. Fool shouldn’t have let this shock him into hesitation; he could’ve lived. Oh, who is she kidding? There can’t be any witnesses. His neck snaps like a twig. With this comes the end of the Persian kingdom of Tareeha.

“Captain, what is your order?”

He doesn’t want to put this on the boy’s shoulders, but what other choice does he have? “Private, you must stop your sister. I will retrieve Advisor Tariq.”

The command has barely left the Captain’s lips before Sapphira closes the distance between them. She swings without restraint, every slash aimed for a vital organ. His blade shakes with every strike, forcing him back. “How dare you!” He tucks himself into a roll to get around her, but sensing his blade coming, she flips over him and kicks him out of his momentum, and he is thrown to the floor. “ _You_ stop _me?_ ” Her blade sends sparks flying into his hair as he avoids it. “Because you’re better than me, is that right?” She strikes again and again and again, each time closer and closer to his face, before he is in a position to kick at her legs, and this time he connects, sending her stumbling backward.

He springs to his feet and puts all his strength into a two-handed strike. She sees it coming and ducks, slamming her shoulder into his side and throwing him back to the floor. Sapphira did this in their training sessions, holding her height and power over him, because she has so much of it, but he can’t afford to treat this like a training session and hope that she’ll stop before it goes too far.

“You look a little scared, Haz.” Sapphira pins him to the ground before he can get back up. “Losing your head? Father and mother will be disappointed.”

Hazael headbutts her, sending her reeling. He’s not going to let her run and put distance between them, and takes advantage of her skewed center of gravity, slamming the whole of his adolescent body weight into her. He locks her beneath his knees and twists her arms behind her back. Tied, she doesn’t struggle.

“I knew you’d get this under control, Amsel. Good work.” Captain Silbergeld approaches, the advisor tied and slung over his shoulder.

Sapphira tenses. “ _Control?_ ”

She shouldn’t have been able to activate her spirit weapon with her hands behind her back, but she does, shooting straight through Hazael’s chest, throwing him off her. She’d been free the whole time, and now he can see why. Instead of a bow or sword, somehow she’d found a way to manifest her spirit weapon into gold finger blades that compressed the Reishi around them into needles rather than arrows, and had cut apart the ropes.

Silbergeld drops the advisor to summon his spirit weapon, but it’s no use. Sapphira darts forward and slices Hazael’s face apart, then turns and sends her hand through the Captain’s chest, emerging out his back with heart in hand. “Is this what you call control, Captain?” His heart gives a last spurt and stills. There’s the answer.

She drops him and finishes off Advisor Tariq the same as his wretched king.

Hazael reaches for his blade. Sapphira kicks it out of his hands. She kneels down, watching her brother’s ragged breathing with interest.

“S-Sapphira—”

“Look at what you’ve done, Hazael.” She strokes his face gently, taking in the blood.

Tears well up in her eyes, and he can’t find it in himself to look at her. Such a tender expression is unfamiliar to him. On her face it’s misplaced. Who is this person holding him and crying over him? He tries to pull away. She won’t let him go, forcing him to face her. At least he can decide now. Blue is the ugliest colour. 

“You’re better than this. You’re better than everyone, apparently. Better than me, for sure.”

Why? He can’t move his lips. He can barely take in breath. Why did she do this? Why would she betray His Majesty and the Captain?

“But if that’s the case, then why couldn’t you stop me?”

Her words can’t get through the cotton in his ears. He’s not even sure he’s still breathing, he’s lost feeling in his body. Somewhere off in the distance, he thinks he hears someone shouting.

Sapphira stands, crying out, “Over here! There’s just one survivor! Help!”

Is he being lifted? Something is happening. Someone else is here. He tries to turn his head to warn them. No sound comes out. Can’t fight anymore.

His vision fades, but the blue remains.


End file.
